


One Teammate Missing

by SylviaNightshade



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Background Character Death, Background Lionel & Joss, Background Reese/Finch, Emotional Baggage, Gay Panic, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-season 3 episode 9, head canon that Taylor knows about the Machine, taylor POV, they should have treated him better, we love pain and healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-21 03:59:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaNightshade/pseuds/SylviaNightshade
Summary: “My dumb ass doesn’t need protecting."“Oh, really? How did we first meet again?”“I had the situation under control.”“Like hell you did. You were one kid with a stack of snowballs up against seven other guys.”“I had seven snowballs. One for each of them.”ORTaylor struggles with his mom's death and his sexuality. Because pain deserves to be felt.





	One Teammate Missing

**Author's Note:**

> I cried for days after Joss's death and I wanted to write something about how her son dealt with it. And I made it gay because, um? Everything is gay (everything should be). And this may or may not be something I wrote for fiction class and changed the names so I could submit it. Enjoy!

His hands still shake when he brings them to his mouth, one against the cigarette, the other flicking the lighter open. First breath in, he’s already relaxed. The smoke flows out of him in a gentle stream, dissipating like always, clouding his vision. Paul’s seriously gonna be pissed if he catches him out here, but Taylor stopped caring about that a while back. Not like he’s trying to piss the guy off, it’s just not his problem. Paul didn’t need to be his full-time father six months ago, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to be that now. Taylor can get on fine by himself, way it’s always been. Way it was. When his mom was still here. 

Thinking in the past tense isn’t easy, but it seems to be all Taylor does these days. That and question himself every chance he gets. He leans against the brick wall outside his apartment building, the cold seeping in through his hoodie. It wouldn’t be so hard to just stay here until seven, when he has to meet Izzy at the comic book store. He wonders what Will is up to, if he might want to come, and pulls out his phone to check, avoiding the unread messages from Paul. 

_Yo_  


_Yo?_  


_Fuck off. You wanna hang w me and Izzy tonight_  


_Got nothin else going on so I guess_  


_Your a dick_  


_*you’re_  


_I hate you_  


_Stop tryna front I know you want me_

Taylor’s face burns at that. He can’t help the small smirk that twitches its way onto his lips. 

_Whatever. Meet us at 7  
_

_You wanna tell me where?_  


_Usual place_  


_Cool. I’ll be there <3_

A fucking heart. Taylor rolls his eyes at Will’s antics. It’s hard to believe they’ve only known each other for a year, maybe less. Definitely less. Taylor’s phone chimes with another text—this one from Fusco. 

_Nice job with the Brooks case last month. We got him. I owe you one, kid._

Taylor smiles as he types his reply.  


_Wow. Never thought you’d thank me_  


_Don’t let it go to your head._  


_Does this mean you’ll stop calling me kid?_  


_Not a chance._

Taylor closes the conversation and takes another drag before pushing off the wall, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He lets the empty cigarette fall to the cracked pavement, mushes it into harmlessness, then picks it back up again, ignoring the dirty ground his hands brush. He tosses the paper carcass into the open dumpster beside him. 

It’s six forty-five when he trudges up to the store entrance, flips his hood back to look at the fried blue-and-green neon sign. No doubt this place is going down any day now. That’s kind of why Taylor likes it here. Only people that are interested in superheroes and meta shit bother to stop in. Taylor considers his tastes pretty broad, but hey, he can dig oversized bulges and dramatic one-liners as much as the next nerd. 

He’s sitting on the graffitied bench outside when Will gets there, right at seven. That boy takes being at the right place at the right time to a whole new level, there are times Taylor wonders if he and Mr. Reese—Detective Riley—are related. The thought of his mom’s former co-worker dampens his mood, but he manages a smile and a jerk of his chin as Will cruises over and lounges down beside him. 

“What’s up, Carter?” They do their signature handshake, fingers tingling as they slide free. 

“Not too fucking much,” Taylor responds. “Same old sub ride home, same old lecture about being late…”

“Oof,” Will says, grinning. “Paul’s up your ass again?”

“He can chill.” Taylor waves his hand dismissively. “I made it this long on public transport. If he wants me to be on time, he can drive me.”

Will lets out a soft chuckle. He nudges Taylor with his shoulder. “Hey, you know it’s good he’s trying, right?”

Taylor shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I just wish he didn’t feel like he had to try so hard.”

The conversation lapses as they wait for Izzy. Will shifts closer to Taylor, tugging his jacket into his body. “Man, it’s freezing. Does New York ever have _warm_ weather?”

“You’re pathetic,” Taylor replies, shoving his phone in Will’s face. “It’s only thirty-five.” 

“That’s three degrees away!” Will defends, swatting it down. “I need more heat in my body.” 

“Yeah, yeah, bet you never even had snow down in Georgia,” Taylor jokes. “Like I said, pathetic.” 

Will raises his dark eyebrows in that way he does, sending warmth through Taylor’s chest. “Oh, you’re one to talk. He-who-must-not-be-shamed.” Taylor smiles despite himself. “How many days a week do you listen to a police scanner like some kinda vigilante? That’s a different level of pathetic and you have to admit it.” 

“Not fair, man,” Taylor protests. “You know why I wanna be a cop.”

“Yeah,” Will says, voice softer. Taylor’s almost fooled into thinking he’s being sympathetic, but he gets a smack upside the head. “Cuz you’re a goddamn fool.”

Taylor pretends to be offended. “Seriously?” he prompts, standing. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah, man, let’s go.” Will plays along, standing, too. “I’ve been waiting to do this for months.”

“Waiting to do what?” a new voice chimes in. “Fuck his brains out? Cuz it’s about damn time.” 

Taylor turns just in time to see a flash of purple hair before Izzy’s wrapped her arms around him. He resists, attempting to break free of her grip with Will’s laughter in the background. “You’re really just gonna shout that shit in the middle of the street?” he hisses, finally shoving her off. 

“Oh, relax, Taylor. It’s not like anybody heard me but you two dumbasses.” Izzy turns to give Will a hug, too. He spins her around for dramatic effect and she squeals. Taylor shakes his head. 

“Why am I friends with you guys, anyway?”

Will sets Izzy down and turns his gaze to Taylor. “Because you love us, baby,” he says, winking. Izzy slaps his arm, but Taylor just flushes, flipping his hood back up. 

They head into the store, which is virtually empty, save for the dead-eyed teens in vests guarding the cash registers. Taylor didn’t expect much else on a school night. The trio make a beeline for the back room, which used to be a rental karaoke station before the managers stopped bothering to ask people for money. 

Izzy plops down on the couch farther from the door, stretching out as far as her legs will go, which, to her annoyance, only includes part of the third cushion. “Sorry, boys,” she says anyway, tucking her hands behind her head. “This one’s taken. Guess you’ll have to share.”

“Izzy, I swear to God—” 

“It’s cool,” Will interrupts, putting his hand on Taylor’s back. “We know how much you like to spread your legs.”

“ _Shit_.” Taylor brings his fist to his mouth as Izzy’s heavily-lined brown eyes narrow. 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, Cabrera.”

Will shrugs in response. He sits down on the second sofa as casually as possible and Taylor, still slightly in shock, joins him. “Man,” he says to Will. “That was cold.”

“Funny. I thought _that_ was usually hot.”

“Okay, we’re changing the subject before I break your fingers,” Izzy says. She makes it sound sweet, but those eyes are enough to snap Taylor into submission. 

“She did break a guy’s nose when we were in middle school,” he warns Will. “I would back off while you’re still kicking.”

Will does, and they manage to have a relatively amicable time making fun of the old karaoke videos in between their conversation, which somehow leads to Izzy giving them stories about some of her exes strange… shapes, and Taylor has his hands on his face for most of that, while Will laughs his ass off beside him. 

They smoke a bit towards the end, being careful not to cloud the room and set off any fire alarms that may or may not still be in place. Taylor knows better than to trust that there isn’t technology everywhere they go. He checks his phone at quarter to eleven, fully aware that his curfew was ten-thirty tonight. He tries to ignore Paul’s text, but Will sees it before he can close it.

“Hey, don’t let us keep you,” Will says. “Wouldn’t want you to get any crap from the old man.”

“I dish it out, I can take it,” Taylor retorts. 

Izzy rolls her eyes, standing. “Well, if you two idiots are considering staying out later, you’re on your own. I’m heading back before my sister gets home and Mama throttles her for being a whore.” 

“What, she doesn’t know about you?” Will smirks. “Oi!” He flinches away from Izzy’s fist, which doesn’t actually fly.

“That’s the point of getting there first, smartass.” She smirks back. “Two for flinching.” She hits Will first in the arm, then lightly slaps his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She fist bumps Taylor on her way out. “Stay out of trouble, Carter.” 

Once the door closes behind her, Will looks to Taylor. “You wanna stay out any later?”

“Nah,” Taylor says, running a hand over his jaw. “I’m not tryna come home at midnight.”

“Fair enough,” Will nods. He stands, offering to help Taylor up. “I can walk you home?”

The subway should run on time this late at night, but they decide to walk rather than risk it, shoulders bumping as they talk. Taylor keeps his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket the whole time; Will's are constantly hitting him. His response to Taylor pointing this out is that he’s “a tactile person”, which Taylor knows, but hearing him say it out loud sends a little twinge through him that he blatantly ignores. 

They get to Taylor’s building at eleven-fifteen. Not the worst time he’s ever been back, but Paul’s still gonna want to talk. Will scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Well, I guess this is where I leave you.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few hours before we see each other again,” Taylor quips. 

Will eyes him and smirks. “I can’t wait.” He ignores Taylor’s less-than-subtle blush as he walks backward, chocolate skin glowing warm in the street-lamp-light. “See you tomorrow, Carter.”

Taylor watches his back until he disappears from view. He really needs to get a handle on this. 

His joy is short-lived when he reaches the front door, which is cracked open. Immediately, he reaches for the knife in his hoodie pocket and switches the blade out, heart pounding. He pushes gently on the frame and creeps in. The television and all the lights are off. Taylor’s careful not to step on any creaks in the flooring, moving behind the kitchen table and into the living room. There’s the outline of a figure sitting in the armchair by the window.

Taylor prepares to take a swing at the perpetrator, but the lamp is suddenly on and it’s Paul, looking unamused at his own prank. Taylor lowers the knife. “Jesus, Dad, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

“And what do you think you gave me?” Paul responds. His voice is unusually low. Taylor swallows and clenches his jaw while Paul shakes his head. “This has to stop. The sneaking out, avoiding me, ignoring curfew. We live in New York City, Taylor. Get that through your fucking head.”

“Yeah, good point, Dad,” Taylor retorts. “It’s a dangerous place. Which is why you left the fucking door open just to scare me into believing you, putting both our lives at risk!”

“That is not the point,” Paul starts, standing up. 

“Oh, fuck off!” Taylor cuts in. “Yes it is.”

“I was trying to get you to see how I feel when you don’t come home on time,” Paul says sharply, voice rising. “Do you get it now?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Taylor says. “You’re fucking insane.”

He turns to go to his room, but Paul snatches his arm and pulls him back. “You cannot talk to me like that, Taylor. We’ve been through this!”

“Get off me!” Taylor wrenches free. “I can’t believe you. Mom never would have done anything like this.”

They both fall quiet, and Taylor leaves Paul there with his guilt.

~<:>~

Will’s waiting for him outside their homeroom the next day, one shoulder propped against the poorly-painted blue cement wall. The halls are scattered with kids, slowly weaving their way into classrooms like ants in a maze. Taylor finds his way to Will through the throng, coming to a stop in front of the taller boy as the last students scurry away. 

“What’s up, man? You look like hell,” Will comments as they handshake. 

“Nothing,” Taylor says, avoiding eye contact. “Just had a rough night.”

Will’s brows knit together. "Paul?" At Taylor’s nod, Will lets out a bitter laugh. “Man, he’s been such a dick since your mom died.” 

Taylor shrugs. “Not like he wasn’t a dick before. I just didn’t have to live with him.” Even if he did visit every so often, they’re hardly close. Paul doesn’t even know about Taylor being gay. Although that was something he would have kept a secret anyway, at least from his dad.

Concern works his way onto Will’s face. “Look, we can stop staying out so late if he’s got a problem. You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit. Not on top of everything…”

“It’s not your fault, Will,” Taylor interrupts. He pats his friend’s shoulder gently. “Let’s get in there before the old lady docks us.” 

Will looks reluctant to drop the conversation, but he follows Taylor inside.

The day passes smoothly, despite Taylor’s disinterest in most of it. He meets Izzy and Will by the bike rack outside after the final bell, like usual. The sun’s still shining behind them, contrast to the cold wind that picks up leaves and trash around them spinning the debris into mini whirlwinds. Taylor flips his hood up out of instinct. When he reaches his friends, Will smiles and jerks his chin, but Izzy’s frowning, the expression natural on her pouty lips. “Hey,” Taylor says as he approaches, cautious. 

“You coming with us today, or are you gonna be secretive?” Izzy inquires, arms crossed. 

Taylor balks. “Secretive? I’m an open book.”

“Sure.” Izzy rolls her eyes. “So? Are you coming?”

Taylor shakes his head. “I’ll catch you guys later.” 

“Fine,” Izzy says, gently slapping his cheek and turning around. “Come on, Will.” 

Taylor watches them leave, taking note of how Will looks back over his shoulder. When he sees Taylor staring, he winks. Of course, Izzy forces him to turn around, flipping Taylor off without so much as a glance in his direction. 

It’s not too far from school to the eighth precinct; both are in Manhattan. His hands in his pockets, Taylor jogs up the steps and enters the warm gray building. And it is warm—unnaturally so. It’s a wonder the detectives aren’t constantly sweating through their suit jackets. A few people rush past him carrying stacks of papers and folders; the place is just as packed and busy as usual. Taylor heads to the left, through shiny grey wood doorways and checkered wire windows to the line of desks sandwiched against one another, pairs for each set of partners. He shoulders through the focused and hurried officers to the one lone desk, across from which sits a pile of paperwork and Detective Lionel Fusco, who adjusts uncomfortably in the chair that’s far too small for his body. 

Taylor smiles as he approaches. “What’s up, Fusco?” he says loudly, startling the detective. 

“For Christ-sakes, kid,” Fusco huffs. “It’s bad enough having John around. Don’t you start sneaking up on me, too.” 

“No promises. I am a vigilante after all.” 

Despite his annoyance, Fusco breaks into a smile. He holds out his hand and they fist bump. “It’s been a little while. How you doing?”

Taylor shrugs one shoulder. “Hard to say. You want Paul’s opinion or mine?”

“Hey,” Fusco warns, holding up a finger. “Calling your father by his first name ain’t a great start, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Taylor sits on the edge of the desk, much to Fusco’s annoyance. “Listen, you got any leads on that possible dirty cop at Midtown South?”

Fusco frowns. “How’d you hear about that?” 

“Does it matter? C’mon, I know you got something.”

As if spooked, Fusco looks around, then leans in towards Taylor. “Look, kid. You don’t want to go poking your nose in something like that.”

“I helped you close your last case,” Taylor challenges, standing again. “Let me in on this.”

Fusco sighs. “You know I would, kid. But you’re not a cop. You’d be my responsibility, and I can’t let anything happen to you.” 

“I don’t know about that, Lionel,” a low voice comments, and Taylor breaks his gaze with Fusco to see Detective John Riley stroll by, impeccable timing as always. “I think Taylor’s more of my responsibility than yours, given your track record.”

“I have a son, wise guy,” Fusco retorts. 

“Exactly.” Riley almost smiles, mocking. “You’ve got your hands full.” 

Taylor’s always liked Detective Riley's sense of humor. He gets his own fist bump from the leaner detective, who sits down at the desk across from Fusco’s. Taylor pointedly does not look at the faded name tag that hasn’t yet been removed from its front. 

“Any particular reason you’re in here, Taylor?” Riley asks, folding his hands. 

Fusco shoots him a warning look before replying for him. “He wants a lead on Hernandez. But we don’t have any, do we?”

“Afraid not,” Riley concedes. “Sorry, kid.”

Taylor pushes his disappointment down in favor of irritation. “I’m not stupid. You’re not the type of detectives that wouldn’t have anything.”

“I appreciate that you want to help, Taylor,” Riley replies, standing again as he gathers some files. “But, like Fusco said: there’s nothing for you to do. You’re not a cop.” 

Taylor grits his teeth, stepping towards Riley as the detective prepares to leave. “Neither are you,” he points out. 

“Which is why I’ll take care of it.” Riley practically glides out of the room.

Taylor turns back to Fusco, who holds up his hands. “Try working with him every day.”

“I want to." 

“Taylor, please,” Fusco says, softening. “I get why you’re doing this. I really do. But right now, your job is to be a kid. And we’re doing ours. You have to trust us.” 

“Yeah, that’s the thing. I did.” Taylor points to the desk behind him. “But what did that get me?”

Fusco’s look deepens, withering sadness in his lined face. He opens his mouth, closes it again. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. If you ever need to talk about what happened to her… I’ll be here. But don’t go throwing yourself at things you don’t understand. Not when you still have so much life to live.”

That hits him, and Taylor nods slowly. He knows Fusco means well. “Sorry to bother you,” he says as he pretends to leave. He ducks into the men’s room across the hall and waits until Fusco gets a phone call. Once the detective is out of sight, Taylor maneuvers carefully to the empty desk and takes the folder labeled _Hernandez_. 

~<:>~

He meets Will at the old kids’ park instead of going home. Paul’s working late tonight, and Taylor knows his guilt will keep him away for a little while. It isn’t the first time. 

Will’s leaning—like he always is—against the swing set frame. He smiles, of course, when he sees Taylor approaching. “Back from your secret meeting, Carter?” 

“I was at the precinct,” Taylor replies. “No secrets.” 

Will raises his eyebrows. “You went to see Fusco?”

“Yeah. After I helped him crack that other case with the dirty cop last month, he agreed to let me in on this one.”

Will looks skeptical. “He did?”

Taylor ignores that, surging on. “The guy’s name is Frank Hernandez. I know where he’s gonna be tonight, and we’re gonna go take him down.”

“Woah, Taylor.” Will holds up his hands. “This sounds like a bad idea. You don’t have a gun, do you?”

“No,” Taylor says truthfully. “Things won’t have to get violent. We just have to record him and bring it back to Fusco as evidence, so they can arrest him.” 

Taylor’s hoping his tone is convincing enough. Will squints at him and sighs. “I don’t know, Taylor. This seems… way dangerous.”

“You don’t have to come,” Taylor offers, but Will cuts him off with his hand. 

“Which is why there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone.” 

Taylor smiles. “Then let’s do this.”

~<:>~

Hernandez has a piece on him as he accepts the drugs, perfectly framed in Taylor’s shot. The two guys in front of him start to back away toward where the two boys are crouched. 

“Shit! Run!” Taylor hisses to Will from their hiding place. He makes sure to end the recording and save it before shoving the camera into his backpack and taking Will’s hand. They sprint away from the distant voices, seemingly unnoticed. Taylor’s heart pounds in his throat, in sync with his feet on the pavement. They only stop to catch their breath when they get to the subway. 

Taylor puts his hands on the railing and leans over. “Fucking hell.”

“You’re crazy,” Will heaves from beside him, looking up at the sky with his back against the rail. Taylor shakes his head and laughs, prompting Will to do the same. 

“Fuck,” Taylor repeats. He stands upright again. “Let’s go.”

Will follows him down the steps. “Your place or mine?”

They arrive at Taylor’s building just before midnight. Will insists on staying with him. “Paul’s not gonna get home for another few hours,” he says, shutting the door to the apartment behind them. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself. Not after what we just did.”

“What _I_ just did,” Taylor corrects. “If they come after me, decline affiliation.”

Will squints at him. “No one saw us.”

Taylor shrugs. “It’ll be fine anyway.” He pulls the camera out of his backpack. “But I better put this somewhere safe.” When he returns from hiding it, Will is still standing by the kitchen table, his jacket draped over a chair and shoes by the door. Taylor nods absently, rubbing his lips and hands together. 

“I’ll get the tape to Fusco in the morning,” he continues, speaking partially to himself. “And everything will sort itself out. That asshole will be behind bars.” 

“Are you going after every dirty cop in New York?” Will asks, looking skeptical. 

“New York’s not the only place in the world, you know.”

Will shakes his head. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

Taylor’s not quite sure how to respond, the silence growing awkward as both their minds jump to his mom. Will clears his throat, shuffling forward slightly. “What are we going to do until tomorrow?”

Taylor sits—falls—onto the arm of the couch. “You’re the one who decided to stay.”

Will smiles. “Just to protect your dumb ass.”

“My dumb ass doesn’t need protecting,” Taylor shoots back. 

“Oh, really?” Will’s closer now. “How did we first meet again?”

“I had the situation under control.”

“Like hell you did.” Will lets out a laugh. “You were one kid with a stack of snowballs up against seven other guys.” 

“I had seven snowballs. One for each of them.”

Will shakes his head. “Even _you_ aren’t that good.”

“But we took them down together,” Taylor reminisces. “Just the two of us.” 

“We make a pretty good team,” Will comments. It’s then that Taylor realizes he could reach out and touch Will with his elbow still bent. He has to tilt his head to look up at the other boy. 

“Maybe… we should go to bed,” Taylor says, trying to keep things casual. He moves to stand, but Will doesn’t budge. They end up inches away from each other, Taylor sort of falling into Will’s chest. 

“You know, I’m not tired,” Will replies without missing a beat, never taking his eyes off Taylor’s. 

Instantly, Taylor’s mouth goes dry. There’s nothing to be misunderstood here, which is a first in his experience. He considers briefly that—despite Izzy’s teasing and Will’s overt come-ons that have both been going on for months—this might ruin the friendship. But he takes one look at those lips and decides they could never ruin anything. 

“Fuck it,” he utters, and closes the distance between them. 

~<:>~

Taylor wakes up disoriented. He’s facing the opposite wall that he normally does, squinting against the glare of sunlight peeking its way around his curtain. When he rolls over, Will’s still asleep—

Will’s still asleep in his bed. 

And, as Taylor rubs his eyes to clear them, completely naked. 

The events of last night come flooding back to him and he flushes, slapping a hand against his forehead and sinking down into his pillow. The movement seems to jostle the bed enough for Will to stir. He blinks slowly, gaze clearing to land on Taylor, who isn’t exactly sure how to handle the situation. 

Luckily, Will starts. “Hey,” he murmurs, smiling. 

Taylor bites his lip. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence as Will stretches and yawns, settling back into the bed with his hand near Taylor’s. “So,” he says, eyes closed. “If I’m remembering correctly… last night… you convinced me to help you record a corrupt cop doing dirty things... and then we somehow made it back here and… did some more dirty things?”

“If you’re remembering correctly,” Taylor responds. 

Will opens one eye. “Oh, I doubt anything could make me forget that last part.” He shifts closer. “In fact,” he continues, hand on Taylor’s waist, pulling their pelvises together. “I remember everything.”

Taylor feels heat course through him as their lips reconnect. It’s a shadow of the teasing and biting that went on last night, but it feels just as good. He’s glad they finally cut through all the sexual tension that was straining over their heads. He’s more than glad, he thinks, as Will’s fingers shift lower. 

It’s then that the door cracks open. “Taylor?” 

Panic jolts through him and he breaks away from Will, who looks just as startled. There’s an embarrassed gasp as Paul sees the two of them and retreats, closing the door with a flinch-worthy bang. 

“Shit,” Taylor mutters. “I’m fucking dead.” 

Will glances over worriedly. “Should I leave, or…?” 

Taylor buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know. Yeah. Probably.” 

“Hey.” Will gently pries Taylor’s hands away. “If you get too much shit, you know you can come stay with me, right? Or Izzy?”

“Yeah, I know,” Taylor says, but he’s genuinely touched. “I’ll be fine, though.” 

“Is that what ‘I’m fucking dead’ means these days?” Will jokes, eyebrows raised. Taylor kisses him to shut him up. 

Once they’re fully clothed, they creep carefully out into the living room. Paul is sitting in the armchair staring at them. Will clears his throat and ducks towards the door. “Mr. Carter.” 

“Goodbye, Will,” Paul says, rather calmly. 

As the door shuts behind him, Paul turns his gaze on Taylor. This is about to be hell. 

“Dad, before you say anything,” Taylor starts, stepping forward. “Yes, we slept together, and no, it’s not a phase.” 

Paul doesn’t seem any less annoyed by these statements, which is what Taylor was afraid of. He looks wildly uncomfortable in addition to his anger. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re not going to see that boy again, you understand me?”

“Dad, don’t do this,” Taylor pleads. “He’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Paul laughs bitterly. “I wish he was just a friend.” He gets up then, pacing. “You know, I actually liked the kid, too. But turns out he’s—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and it infuriates Taylor even more. “He’s what, Dad? Disturbed? Perverted? Unethical? He’s the same as me!” 

That seems to stop Paul in his tracks, and Taylor takes the floor. “You have no idea what it’s like, do you? To care about someone, forget same gender or not.”

Paul holds up a finger. “That’s not fair—” 

“No, Dad!” Taylor interrupts. “What’s not fair is I have to hide who I am! What’s not fair is being afraid all the time, because people who look like us have to carry one strike around with them day after day and I can’t be gay because I’m already black?! What’s not fair is mom working on the force for ten years, playing by all their stupid white-collar rules, and the second she works to make some real change a dirty white cop shoots her!” 

He chokes on the last few words, tears streaming down his cheeks now. The expression is reflected on Paul’s face, and he tries to speak. “Taylor—”

But his son has already walked out, backpack slung over his shoulder.

~<:>~

He walks until he finds the station, his legs carrying him blindly the whole way. Thank God he put the camera back in his backpack before he took it, since he figures he should get the tape to Fusco sooner rather than later. The detective probably won’t be too happy about what Taylor did to get it, but he can’t change that now. 

He could trace the path back to the desk in his sleep, which is how he feels in his trance-like state. The feeling slowly fades away as he approaches, though the confidence he had last night wavers slightly. Fusco looks up just in time to be startled as the bag drops down in front of him. He frowns. 

“What the hell is this?”

Taylor pulls out the camera. “Evidence. Everything you need to arrest Hernandez.”

Fusco takes it, handling it with care, but his face is far from gentle. “How did you get this?”

“Shot it myself.”

“For Christ-sakes, kid!” Fusco hisses, standing. “I told you not to go putting yourself in danger.”

“I made it out, didn’t I?” Taylor challenges. “And I gave you what you wanted.”

“What I wanted was for you to move on!” Fusco snaps. It startles Taylor into silence. The look on Fusco’s face changes, heavy with grief. He walks past Taylor, camera still in hand, into the breakroom, which is thankfully empty. Taylor follows him, chest strumming, daze creeping back in. 

Fusco sits down, making no gesture to invite Taylor to sit beside him. He chooses the chair across from the detective, settling into it carefully. Fusco doesn’t look at him. “You know, when I first transferred to the eighth… I hated working with her. The famous Detective Joss Carter. She was so by the book.” His lips twitch up. “She used to make me fix my tie every day. Apparently I always messed it up.” He touches the knot at his throat. “Never liked these things anyway.”

Taylor’s silence allows Fusco to continue. “She became my partner, though. She and John, they just… always had my back, no matter how hard it got.” His eyes start to fog. “And when I heard what happened, I was so angry I wanted to kill the asshole that shot her. Make him bleed, suffer, all that shit. I was that angry.” He looks at Taylor now, who can’t help that his own tears are falling now. “But that’s not what she would have wanted,” Fusco says. “She was one of the good ones, your mom. Never rested a day in her life.”

Taylor brings a hand to his mouth, fighting back sobs. Fusco’s tears start to slip out. “You’re just like her, you know. With that camera. Trying to take down all the bad guys at once.” The detective leans forward. “That’s what she did. That’s what we do. When the time comes, you can join the fight. We’d be more than happy to have someone brave like you.” He looks into Fusco’s eyes, serious and sorrowful. “But it’s not your time, kid.”

He places his hand gently on Taylor’s shoulder, pulling him up into a hug. It’s then that the dam breaks and Taylor allows himself to sob into Fusco’s shoulder, clinging to his suit jacket with fragile fingers. He doesn’t notice if Fusco cries with him, but it’s enough just to be held. Just to have someone who knew his mom, who understands the hole that’s been ripped in his heart. 

“Promise me you’ll stop listening to the police scanner,” Fusco rasps into his ear. “Please, kid, I have enough health problems without having to worry about you.”

Taylor sniffles, nodding into his shoulder. “I promise.” 

Fusco pulls back and Taylor sees the red rims of his eyes. Hand still on his shoulder, Fusco forces a small, sad smile. “I love you, kid.”

A laugh bubbles to the surface of Taylor’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, wiping his nose. “Yeah, I love you, too.” 

~<:>~

Taylor finds himself outside the Fierro residence an hour later with vague memory of walking there. He stands on the front porch, hands in his pockets, bracing himself against the chill of the wind until he gets up the stamina to knock. Much to his delight, Izzy’s the one who opens the door. She frowns. “Taylor? The hell are you doing here?”

He forces a smile. “What, I can’t visit my best friend since third grade every once in a while?”

Izzy cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “This early on a Saturday? I thought you usually slept until four.” 

“Yeah, well.” Taylor shifts. “Some… stuff happened. Can I come in?” 

Izzy takes a moment to consider this. “Sure,” she says finally, still looking skeptical, but she lets him past.

Ten minutes later, Izzy has her hands in her purple hair. “You recorded a dirty cop and you didn’t bring me with you? Are you insane?! We could have gotten hours more if I’d been there, and you never would have had to run away!” 

Taylor grins. “This is why you’re my best friend. Will told me not to do it.”

“Fuck Cabrera, he has too much sense.” Izzy waves her hand dismissively. 

A blush creeps onto Taylor’s cheeks as he thinks of her wording. 

Five minutes later, Izzy has her hands on her face. “You actually fucked him?! I’m so proud of you, Carter, you don’t even know the half of it!” 

“Yeah, it was all fun and games until Paul walked in on us.” 

Izzy stops in her tracks. “Oh, shit. How the fuck are you gonna handle that?”

“It’s handled,” Taylor says noncommittally. “Not like he’ll disown me, but he’s gonna be mad for a while.” 

“Well, fuck him, too,” Izzy replies. “And not in the sexy way.”

~<:>~

Taylor ends up leaving sooner than he would have liked to. Izzy kicks him out when her sister comes home, but she makes sure to give him a hug and a light slap in the face on the way out. Unsure where else to go, Taylor goes home. Despite almost everything inside of him screaming that this is a bad idea, there’s a small part that burns with guilt against the protests. He needs to apologize for what he said. 

His fingers hesitate by the doorknob. It’s been hours. He hopes that Paul has cooled down by now. The longest he’s ever stayed away after a fight has been a day so far. This is the first time they’ve even mentioned his sexuality, though, so Taylor’s not sure what to expect. But he has to face this, one way or another. He takes a deep breath, twists the knob, and swings the door open. 

Paul stands immediately from his seat in the recliner. He almost looks—scared. But he seems to deflate when he sees Taylor, who shifts awkwardly in the doorway. They stare at each other for a beat, the silence in the room drowning out the sounds of the street below. Paul looks away first. 

Taylor takes that opportunity to nudge the door shut behind him. He steps closer, drawing Paul’s gaze back to him. Clearing his throat, Paul finally speaks. “Your detective friend visited me.”

That’s not at all what Taylor was expecting and he freezes slightly. “Fusco?” 

“No, not Fusco,” Paul says gruffly. “That… John Riley guy.” 

Taylor opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know how to respond. What business did Riley have with his dad? Paul spurs on, though he looks uncomfortable. “He and his… boyfriend seem very… intimidating.” 

Waves of realization crash over him. “They both came here? Him and Mr. Finch?” Taylor asks, shocked. He knew the two had eyes everywhere, but—come to think of it, he’s an idiot for not realizing they would have been watching him, too. 

Paul tilts his head, hands shoved in his pockets. Taylor notices then that his posture is reflective of his dad’s and he moves out of it, crossing his arms. “Well, what did they say?”

Paul exhales, raising his eyebrows. “They didn’t _say_ much at all. The big guy walked around while the smaller guy—Mr. Finch, I guess—he sat down and… explained to me all this stuff about…” He pauses, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “How… being gay wasn’t the worst thing in the world and shit. That it didn’t… de-masculinize you or whatever.” Taylor’s a bit uncomfortable with that description, and he sees Paul is, too. “He said I ought to…” Paul presses, hesitant. “I ought to make it easier on you. Because… this world sure as hell isn’t gonna do that.” 

Taylor’s almost moved. He shrugs his shoulders, resigned. “You don’t have to understand right away, Dad. I know it’s hard for you. But... you should have the decency to try.”

Paul smirks. “Well, Detective Riley made some thinly veiled threats about what would happen to me if I didn’t.” 

They exchange an amused look, relieving some of the bottled tension. Taylor knits his brows together, the guilt swallowing him whole again. “Dad, about what I said,” he starts. “I didn’t mean… I know you and Mom loved each other, once, and you cared about her—” 

“Taylor,” Paul cuts him off. “It’s okay.” 

They’ve moved even closer to each other, almost enough to touch with little effort. Taylor waits, watching his dad gather his thoughts. It’s something more intimate than he’s ever experienced and it overwhelms him, wave after wave. 

“I know… I can never replace your mom,” Paul finally speaks. “And I don’t mean to. I… I lost her a long time ago.” He pauses, wiping his mouth. “You’re the best thing we ever did, Taylor.” He meets his son’s eyes when he says that, and Taylor can’t help that his eyes start to prick. “I don’t want you to have to go through… all the shit that I know you will have to experience. I never fucking wanted that. No father wants that for his son.” Tears start to fall from Paul’s eyes, too. “But, Taylor… even if I don’t… understand or agree with some of your decisions doesn’t mean that I won’t do _everything_ in my power to protect you and keep you close to me. No one had to threaten me into loving you.” 

Taylor stares into the silence that follows, aware of the wetness on his cheeks. “Shit, Dad,” he manages, laughing a little. “That was a hell of a speech.” 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” Paul says, pulling him into a hug. 

They stay that way for a while. At least, until Paul pulls away, looking stern again. “Riley also told me you’ve been down at the police station. Chasing dirty cops?”

Taylor freezes, mind working furiously to come up with a response. “Did you go putting yourself in danger just to catch a couple assholes?”

“They’re not just a couple assholes, Dad,” Taylor argues. “They’re the same kind of people Mom was working to take down.” 

“So you’re gonna throw your life on the line and end up like her? No,” Paul replies harshly. “You leave that shit alone. I mean it, Taylor. You don’t want to listen to me about anything else in this house, fine, but stay the fuck away from dirty cops until you’re old enough and professional enough to carry a piece around. That includes proper training on how to fire it.” 

There’s a lot inside Taylor that wants to protest, but he pushes it down in favor of moving forward. "Fine. As long as you keep that promise.”

Paul frowns. “What promise?”

“That once I’m old enough and professional enough to carry a piece around,” Taylor reiterates. “You’ll let me.” 

The frown doesn’t go away, and for a moment Taylor’s afraid he’ll say no. But then but Paul sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

Taylor shakes it. Before he can let go, Paul puts his other hand on Taylor’s arm. “But you have to promise to be careful. Working on the force is no joke.”

For anyone else, it would be easy to automatically agree, just to appease Paul. But Taylor’s never been like that. He knows better. “I can’t promise that, Dad.” 

At first, Paul looks ready to break, but he shakes their joined hands once more and drops his hold on Taylor. “Then make sure you get a partner who can.” 

~<:>~

It’s cold when Taylor gets to the cemetery, a fresh layer of snow coating the ground. He stands in front of Joss Carter’s headstone, hands in his pockets. Fresh flowers lay in front of the grave.

The snow hasn’t stopped since yesterday, but at least it’s falling gently now. Taylor takes a deep breath, unsure of how to start. Hot blood pumps beneath the surface of his frozen skin. 

“Hey, mom,” he says finally. The cold stone doesn’t respond, just gathers more snowflakes. Taylor sighs. “I don’t… know why the hell I came here. It’s not like you’re in there.” 

Nothing but more silence. Taylor looks down, embarrassed. “Sorry. I know you hate it when I curse.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I guess this is where I feel like I can talk to you. Without anybody hearing me.”

It only takes a moment for his dreamy haze to snap. “This is fucking stupid,” he says, regretting it instantly. “Nothing I say is gonna bring you back.” 

Even though the headstone stays silent, the filter of snow casting down around it, Taylor gets the sense that it is listening to him, and he has so much more to say. He sighs. “I’m sorry. For a lot of things, really. I’m… sorry for being stupid and going after Hernandez. I’m sorry for dragging Will with me. I’m sorry for being such a dick to Dad. Even if he deserves it sometimes.”

He presses his lips together to keep his tears from falling. “I just feel so angry. All the time. And I remember what you taught me, about anger.” He curls his fist around the fallen snowflakes on his palm. “Find a way to channel it. And I thought I did… but…” He sighs, heavy and shaky. “It’s not enough.”

His vision clouds as he stares into the white. “I wish I could have been there to stop it. That _fucking_ asshole. I wish I could have had the nerve to go after him with Fusco. I wish I could have done _something_ other than lose you.” His next words are groggy with loss. “That’s why I did it, mom. I just wanted you to be proud of me.” 

The liquid is warm against his cheeks, but he wipes it away quickly with the heel of his gloved hand, turning away from the gravestone as if she could see him. A few moments pass before Taylor realizes how ridiculous he’s being. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, facing the stone again. He huffs a laugh. “Sorry… that feels like all I can say sometimes.” He bites his lip. “You didn’t deserve to die. And I just want to make sure that no one else does. Not if I can help it.” 

Slowly, he reaches for the top of the stone, hand resting in one of the grooves. “Thanks for everything, mom.” The unspoken words of affection hang in the air, and as he leaves, it’s as though a tension has been pulled from his lungs. He pretends it’s the snow that blurs his vision. 

~<:>~

Without texting, Taylor shows up on Will’s doorstep. This is becoming habit-forming. Will opens the door and steps out into the hall immediately, almost reaching out to touch Taylor, who backs up instinctively. It’s awkward then, neither of them sure how to be. 

Taylor speaks first. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Will echoes, looking at him curiously. 

All coherent thoughts leave Taylor’s brain, the only remaining one a sad mantra: _kiss him_. He shakes that away, flushing as though Will can read his mind. The taller boy takes the pause to speak again. “How have you been?” 

Taylor laughs at his tone. “It’s only been four days, man.” 

“I know how long it’s been,” Will says sheepishly. “I just—how are you? How are things? How’s… Paul?”

Taylor breathes out. “Paul's Paul. He’s…” He pauses, shrugging. “He’s not exactly happy.” 

“Did he forbid you from ever seeing me again?” Will jokes, eyebrows raised.

Taylor smiles, shoving his hands further into his pockets. “Yeah, something like that.”

They take a second to let the words sink in, and Will’s eyes change, letting down the wall of humor to reveal some of their vulnerability. “But… you’re here now,” he says slowly. 

They’ve moved closer, Taylor notes. He bites his lip. “Yeah, I am.” 

With little regard for any neighbors or passersby in the hall, Taylor leans forward and kisses Will. The other boy’s surprise is evident, but he gives in, moving a hand to the back of Taylor’s head. The kiss ends organically and Taylor pulls back. “I don’t care what other people think,” he says, slightly out of breath. 

Will still looks dazed. “You don’t?”

Taylor shakes his head. “Fuck ‘em. Besides, Paul isn’t so mad. He may or may not have been threatened into some form of acceptance.” 

Will raises his eyebrows. “Fusco?”

“Nah. Riley. And his partner, Finch.”

Will whistles. “Shit. I guess that’s good, but… are threats really the way to go?” he asks, forehead creased with an adorable amount of concern. 

Taylor would normally agree. “Sometimes,” he concedes. “In this case, I think it worked out. He was a little more hung up on the fact that we recorded drug dealers from ten feet away.” 

Will sucks in his breath. “I guess that didn’t score me any more points, did it?” 

“Well, I say we,” Taylor backtracks. “Technically he doesn’t know you were there.” He looks at Will for a moment. “But…” he continues. “Paul does think I need someone to watch my back.” Taylor rubs his lips together. “You up for it?” 

Will takes a second, conclusions forming in his dark brown irises. “You mean… be your partner in taking down crime?”

Taylor shrugs. “Or just be my partner,” he says, no hesitation in his voice.

A blinding smile splits Will’s face. “Was that a proposition, Carter?” 

Taylor smirks, leaning up closer. “You know exactly what it was, Cabrera.” 

**Author's Note:**

> We love an up-and-coming POI team member!! I head canon Izzy, Will, and Taylor as working with the Machine in the future too.


End file.
